Vanishing
by calltheangels
Summary: The 'Saints' travel to Miami on a favor to an FBI agent and cross paths with Dexter Morgan, closet serial killer.Cue justice, served up vigilante style.


**AN- So, i was browsing around...and I discovered that there were no Boondock Saints/Dexter crossovers. This had to be remedied. So voila! Here it is, in all of it's unbeta'd and cobbled together glory. Enjoy. Review, even. Make my day. ;)**

**Connor POV**

"Fuck. I feel whiter than a fucking ghost." Murph complained. I sniggered at him. He'd been an absolute abomination since we made it Florida.

"Aye. Just a regular fuckin' Casper, ain't ya?"

"Shut it, Conn." He lit up a smoke, squinting at the sun behind his shades, which was amusing to me, because his shades were so dark they made him practically blind. "This was a fuckin retarded idea, coming here."

I lit my own smoke. "Why d'ya say that?"

"Uh well, for one thing it's fuckin' hotter than the fifth ring of hell here-"

"Get over it already."

"-For another thing, it's been, what? Six years since we've been in the states? Someone is bound to recognize us. God knows those sketches the cops put out couldn't have been more accurate. What kind of shit is that, anyway? Every other police sketch looks like the Unabomber. But no, not ours.." He shook his head. "Why are we here?"

"Personal favor to Smecker. " He rolled his eyes behind his shades. I didn't need to see it to know he did it. "We owe him that, at least. He's been covering our asses for some time now."

"Conn, he just sent us plane tickets and fake passports, told us where we were staying once we got here, and nothing else. This is some huge fucking favor he's asking, and vague one at that. Don't that concern ya at all?"

Truthfully? Yes it did concern me. But I wasn't about to give my brother more reason to complain. "He's got his reasons, Murph."

"Right…." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm starving. Let's get some food before we find out what shit we're in this time." On cue, his stomach gave a very audible and comic rumble.

We found a little dinner on a corner and entered. The ac was blasting ice cold air. Muph gave a sigh of approval, stretching out at the table we sat down at. A little Puerto Rican man with a heavily lined face and jovial air came up to us with menus. "What can I get for you?" His English was heavily accented.

"Um, how 'bout a water for starters?" asked Murph. The man cocked his head at him. "I don't understand."

Murph slipped into Spanish with ease. "Un vaso de agua, por favor?" I held up two fingers. "Dos."

The man nodded furiously and hurried away. "Always glad Ma made us learn Spanish." Murph muttered, sinking back into his chair.

"Holy shit." A tall and thin woman with dark brown hair gawked at us. "Are you guys from fuckin' Ireland or something?"

"Uh…."

"Aye." I smiled up at her while Murph continued to stammer like an idiot. "Take it you've never met an Irishman before?"

"And you say I'm fuckin' terrible with pickups lines." It was my turn to roll my eyes. The woman made an exasperated noise, almost like a chicken cluck. "Don't tell me you guys actually walk around and talk in fake accents to get chicks?"

Murph grinned up at her. "That's up for you to figure out, detective." He nodded at her shield. She looked down at her belt where a gold shield was clipped and grinned right back.

"Alright. I'm hooked." She plopped down in the chair next to Murph and looked around at us. "So, do you guys have names? Or should I make one up for you?"

"If you really feel the need to,"

"Great. You're George." She pointed to me. "You're Casper, because you're whiter than a fucking ghost. Jesus, you're in Miami! The only pale people here are serial killers and junkies."

I did my best to contain my laughter at the wounded look on my brother's face. "Do you have a name?" he asked after he recovered a bit.

"Debra Morgan." She brushed her hair out of her face. Murph watched her like she was a fascinating film on the tv. The waiter came back with three glasses and an extra menu. "Ready to order?"

"Hamburguesa con queso-" Debra shook her head. "No, they want those breakfast burritos. Same thing for me." She handed our menus back with a polite smile.

"Si, si." The man gave a wide smile and scurried off.

"Um, well thanks for ordering for us." I said. She raised her eyebrows at me. "Trust me, you'll love theses _way_ more than a fucking hamburger _con queso._"

She was right. The burritos were godly.

"So…" she asked in between bites. "You gonna tell me your real names?"

I shot Murph a look. _Tell her? Yes, no? _The tiniest bob of his head was all I needed.

"Well, I'm Alex. He's Gabriel." Figures. The first names to come to mind sounded anything but Irish. _Awesome. _

"Really? Those are pretty common names here in the states." She asked, taking a huge bite out of her burrito.

"Eh, our Ma loved anything to do with America." I shrugged.

A cell phone went off loudly next to us. I flinched a little, the ringer like nails down a chalkboard. Debra dropped her food instantly and dug in her purse for her phone. She flipped it open. "Morgan."

Murph took the chance to shoot me a rather nasty look. Alex and _Gaberiel? That's the best you could come with? _

"Right, yeah, I'm on my way." She shut her phone and dug out a ten dollar bill, throwing it on the table in front of her. "Crime scene I gotta go to." She said unapologetically. "Well, it was nice meeting you. I hope your stay in Miami is a good one."

"I sure hope so…" Murph muttered as she ran off. He looked down into his glance of water. He groaned suddenly. "Should've gotten her fucking number. Girl was _gorgeous._"

"Murph. We're here on business. We do our shit, and then we go home."

A wicked grin crossed his face. "Who says I can't find time for pleasure?"

"I mean it, brother."

"Yeah?" He took one last bite out of his burrito before standing up. "We'll see. If I meet her again, all bets are off." He smirked. "I _mean _it, brother."

**Dexter POV**

Blood never lies.

The body of a young teenage girl lied in front of me, spread eagle on her hotel bed, a Gillette razor placed in her hand. There were cuts on her arms, superficial ones that would have bled a little, but wouldn't have killed her. No, the cause of death was something else. An overdose of pills, maybe? There was bruising on her face, around her jaw and nose.

Ah. Strangulation. Got it.

Vince Masuka, my fellow forensics expert, elbowed me. "She's got some nice tits." He took a moment to snap a picture of her chest.

"She's kind of dead." I pointed out, dabbing blood onto a q-tip and putting it inside a test tube. He shrugged, like it was a mute point. I never really understood Masuka. He was...weird, even by my standards. I looked at the girl's breasts trying to understand what he mean, but found nothing there. Just more parts of a dead body.

Sergeant Angel Batista kneels down next to me. "Any ideas, Dexter?" Batista thought us to be close buddies outside of the workplace. I don't know how he drew that conclusion, but I never corrected him on it. He was another face, another person to keep distance from. Blending in, hiding in the shadows- just how my father Harry taught me.

"Uh, well, the bruising on her face suggests strangulation. The killer may have made the cuts on her arms in attempt to make it look like a suicide, but they obviously didn't know what they were doing." I looked to Batista. "Just a theory."

"It's a good one, Dex. Thank you." he stood up and folded his arms over his chest. "Morgan! Glad you could join us." I turned to see my sister, Debra, rushing into the crime scene, trying to take in as much as she could at once. My sister was a good cop. It made sense. Harry was a good cop. Of course it would run in the family. Of course, I was adopted so I didn't get that set of genes. No, I got something much darker and deadly than good intuition and the one track mind they had.

I envision myself standing in the middle of the station, announcing my true identity in a voice of complete calm. "My name is Dexter Morgan. I kill people. Bad people." Pause for dramatic effect. "Who wants a doughnut?"

I'm sure that would go over smoothly.

"Batista, I'm sorry! I got caught in traffic on my way to get breakfast, and then I met these two random guys and then I got stuck in traffic on the way here-" She manages to get all of that out in one breath. Batista waves a hand to cut her off. "Okay, just don't let it be a habit. You can easily lose your shield, you know." Ouch. That had to wing Deb a little. She fought hard for her Detective shield, the last thing she wanted to do was lose it. "Go canvas the area again with Quinn,see if you two can't find someone who might've seen something."

"Yeah. Got it, Sergeant." Deb waits until Batista leaves that she leans over to look at the dead body. "Any idea who she is?" She called out to the other officers in the room. No one answered her, too busy playing the politics of who was going to lead the case. My sister didn't much care about leading investigations now that she had been promoted- as long as the crime got solved, she was happy. To an extent, anyway. Deb looked back down . "She's so young… it's a shame, really. I'm sure she had a bright future ahead of her."

I nodded sympathetically. Deb shook her head. "So, I met a couple Irish guys today."

"Oh yeah?" I ask, lifting my camera to take more photos of the crime scene. "How was that?"

"An experience. The one guy was fuckin' hot."

"Cool. Did you get their numbers?" Deb was silent for a moment then kicked the floor. "Damnit! No, I got called here and totally forgot to ask." She looked flustered for a moment before changing the subject. "Where's Quinn at?" She walked off without an answer.

I finished my work at the crime scene and started outside to my car, planning on heading back to my nice, quiet, air conditioned lab. Two men with sunglasses, black shirts, and blue jeans stood outside the motel, staring warily at the police cars. The one could have passed as your average Miami citizen, he was tan enough. The other one was a pasty white- the kind of delicate skin tone that instantly burns in the sunlight. The last person I'd seen with that skin tone was Lilla, my British deranged artistic Narcotics Anonymous sponsor. She killed people with fire. Arson, that was her shtick. I had to kill her.

These two seemed to be close to each other. Brothers, no doubt. They spoke quietly in a language I didn't understand. The tan one nodded and then looked to me. "Scuse me. Can you tell us what happened in that hotel?" He spoke with an accent. Irish, no doubt.

I stopped short and held my hands up. "Uh, a murder happened. That's all I can tell you. I'm just the blood guy."

"The what guy?"

"Blood guy. I'm a blood splatter analyst." I held up my ID badge.

"That's kind of a weird job, looking at blood all day," Apparently Casper the friendly ghost was impulsive and quick tempered. He reminded me of Deb.

Something clicked in my brain. Deb said she met two Irish guys. These two were definitely Irish. And religious, judging by the tattoos on their necks. Were these two the same guys Deb met earlier?

"Wonder if this is the same crime scene Debra got called to." Casper looked to his counterpart, who shrugged. "It might be, but I wouldn't go chasing after her."

"Debra?"

"Morgan". She's a detective that we sort of bumped into earlier. She ran off before I could get her number."

"Ah, well, she's here." I waved a hand to the building. "Good luck finding her though, she's like a dog. She gets focused on something, it's very hard to deter her."

"Challenge accepted." Said Casper under his breath. The other man looked concerned. "Maybe we should find another place to stay. This doesn't sit well with me." He looked up at the building, arms folded over his chest. He was calm, calculated. Like me.

"Uh, well, unless you guys have any more questions I'll be one my way."

The calm one shook his head, apparently feeling they had conversed more than enough with me. I nodded and walked off to my car. I looked back at them as they walked towards the hotel; they walked perfectly instep with each other. The calm one looked back at me for a brief moment. Something wasn't right about the pair of them, the calm one more than anything. He had that vibe. The same one I had.

_Looks_ _like I have more than blood to look after now._


End file.
